


For the Greater Good Times

by archea2



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archea2/pseuds/archea2
Summary: Original prompt: So Graves and Newt are in a lovely relationship, and one night when they're having sex, an escaped Grindelwald comes looking for revenge. Instead, through the window, he sees our two boys together. Cue him watching and being fascinated with Graves and Newt. What happens next?(Answer: he leaves them some concrit!)





	

Newt was burrowing into the blankets, knees tucked under his chin, basking in their warm softness and the familiar whiff of Percival's brillantine which no amount of _Evanesco_ s could succeed in banishing from bed. What more could a nest-builder want? Unless...  
  
The mattress dipped under another weight. A chin grazed his jaw, unshaven as of yet, as - "Hello, puffskein," Percival said, moving his lips to Newt’s tangled web of hair. He paused to direct the floating teacup to the other side of the bed. "It’s watering time for you."

  
"'...Not a puffskein," Newt protested. " I'm  _lanky_." He uncoiled a bit, mostly to enjoy the sore‘n'sweet cast on his every move. They had gone to bed early and were enjoying early morning breakfast, and between the two they had carried out their exertions well into late night.  
  
Percival's laughter – still new to both, an unacknowledged miracle to each - rose across the tinkle of china. "How long do I get to keep you, then?"  
  
"Well..." The speaker’s freckles blushed – a Prewett trait, his mother liked to remind him - as he grabbed the cup. It was tea, or rather it was boiled American cheesecloth with what tasted like tobacco leaves in it, but the fact that Percival had infringed his own coffee-round-the-clock regulation in buying them was enough for Newt’s bliss. It made him eager to consider the Broadway apartment and his owner as a round-the-clock habitat, although he lacked the courage to say so. Percival still "bossed the show", as Tina liked to say; and Percival had only introduced the subject twice in their six months of on-and-off encounters, and always as a quip.  
  
Newt bit the inside of his lip and turned to hide his freckles in yesterday’s _New York Ghost_. But as he spread it out, part of it fell down on his lap.   
  
"...Newt?" Percival's voice was sharp. Sharpened, Newt knew, by his own intake of breath at the single parchment sheet folded along the _Ghost_ ’s center page. It was blank, an almost derisive contrast to the close-ranked typography. Newt turned it over. On the verso, in a bold jagged hand, he saw the words "To MM. Graves and Scamander - for their greater good".

  
"Merlin in Avalon." Percival had slammed an arm across him while groping with the other under the pillow. "Don't touch it! There might be a hex trigger, or..." He grabbed his wand and waved it at the sheet. "Reveal your secrets!"

The paper lay unmoved. The speaker gritted his teeth. "Resentful bastard. All right! _Revelio_!"

  
The parchment flipped itself over good-naturedly. Words and exclamation marks leapt into visibility, some larger than others. Newt blinked.  
  
"Is that...?"  
  
"Grindelwald." Percival's face was one substantial growl. "That infernal trickster. If he thinks he can stalk you all the way here, in _my_ place, under _my_ ca..."  
  
"He did not kill me." Newt was careful to keep his voice gentle and unhurried, as he had the year before with a nundu mothering a sick cub. "Nor you. He...left word with us?"  
  
Percival took a moment to un-growl. "And then scarpered. His very M.O. What does he say?"  
  
Newt wheeled his gaze back to the sheet. "He...uh..." His voice scuttled up half an octave as he began to read the long-legged writing.   
  
_9 p.m. Mr Graves. While there is no settled order for preliminaries, nothing good can come of holding them up to remove your hose garter. It cramps your style. It weakens your stance. It is, in one word, a shoddy move. Either ditch the garters or assume their full enticing potential. By which I mean stockings_

"What does he mean?" Newt asked, puzzled. He thought some more, then his face cleared up. "Oh! Of course. That’s what the leapyear Fwoopers do, y’know, when they’re in season. Turn their feathers blue and put on a crest to attract other males, because the statistics make it near impossible for them to…" 

" _Newt_."

"Sorry, sorry." Newt took up the leaf again. "Perhaps he means something entirely different."

"The man is mad. Stark staring raving mad. Read on."

 _9 : 18 Allow me to edit myself. Mr Scamander’s legs are the cat’s whiskers, or, as we said at Durmstrang in my younger days, the kick in my wooden stick. So long, so white. And with nary a hair!_ He _gets the stockings._

"Oh, well. I mean, at least he has method in his madness. I mean." 

"Newt!"

_10 : 03 I have seen Inferi with more vim to their moves, Graves. Loki’s sake, Scamander won’t break if you brand a hickey or two on his tender neck or his pure young arse. But then, what canI expect from a man so anally retentive he matches his shirts and silk lapels to his grey-templed hair? Eighteen pearl-grey shirts, Graves. I know. I’ve counted them._

"Son of a Skrewt!" Percival checked himself at his partner's wounded gaze. "No offence meant."

"I like grey," Newt said quietly. "I find it a very soothing colour. It makes me think of rain, Occamies’ eggs, England when I miss it. Gandalf and Merlin wore it as a badge of truth. Why are you upset?"

Percival turned his head, kissed the tender neck. "I’m not upset," he murmured.

 _10 : 08 Mr Scamander. Mother Nature gave you a lissom mouth – as I myself know from having faced you at close quarters. Do you really think she only intended it for babbling? And no better use? Many men would follow that mouth to the last extremities, Mr Scamander. Many would beg for that long, plump jut of lip to mould itself around_ … "Newt, what are you doing? "

"Taking notes." Newt, who had been scribbling on the cuff of his pajama vest, paused to consider. "I wouldn’t classify my lips as suckers – that’s the octopod’s perk, really - but he might have a point. Is this something you’d like? For me to suckle you?"

"Oh, God." Percival twisted sharply away, averting his face. His very red face, Newt saw.

"We ought to make a chart. A terrain map for my mouth. Does he have suggestions? ...Oh. _Oh_. "

Percival’s next words were rushed, half breath, half broken. "I, I thought you might take it amiss if I… but yes, we could… definitely… that is, if you think you might, ah, find the sensation not entirely unpleasant…"

"Percival." Newt’s eyes had an impish twinkle to them. "I would very much like to service you with my long, plump jut of lip." 

Before the man could resurface from his moan, he carried on.

_10 : 08 : 02 Already, Mr Scamander ? A quick study is a quick study, but still. Let us hope your refractory period is equally speedy. Not that you don’t look charming in a blush. Oh, the freckles too? But as a self-respecting Seer, I expected a better show from one so versed in animal rutting._

"Bastard. Cruel, unfeeling… don’t listen to him, dear heart. You’re too darn hot whenever you spend yourself, and I don’t give a goblin’s curse how or how fast –"

"It was 10 : 09, actually. We took a break so I could check on the mooncalves." Newt raised his head with sudden, wide-eyed alacrity. "Did you just call me dear heart?"

"…Ah." MACUSA’s Number Two hemmed into his fist. "Actually…"

_10 : 12 Is Mr Graves done with his Comforting Speech? Good. He must be as entertaining as he is now, half of him leaning out the window to smoke a cigarette, then crunch a Kowalski bonbon to hide the smell. Sweets to the sweet, Percy?_

"Shut up! No, not you, Newt. Go on. You never know what word might be a clue."

 _10 :17 The intermission is over, I see. Excellent._  

 _10 : 42 No, the vaseline is on your left._

_11 : 42 : 07 Your left!_

_10 : 42 : 28 : YOUR OTHER LEFT, GRAVES!_  

Newt had switched cuffs and was now scribbling on the right. "We could keep it on both sides," he offered. "I mean, it’s like any other poultice, I could even mix it myself so you don’t have to ration yourself. I have plenty of pestles down in my workplace, and, uh, this way, we’d always be prepared. You know. For emergencies. And, uh. Non-emergencies."

"…We could," Percival said, his nostrils still bad-tempered but his voice mild. He turned to bend over Newt, and Newt leant sideways into him, both ignoring the ghost in the room. Outside, the air turned a warmer dawn, a July dawn, with great splashes of light that took over as the streetlights went out.

_10 : 42 : 30 Or you could use good clean organic lubricant. Ask Mr Scamander about the properties of saliva. He’s an anatomist, after all._

"This should go on the chart."

 _10 : 21 Goody-goody for you, Perce! A firm hand is your forte, isn’t it? And you’re finding that it does wonders, when applied to the – root of the matter. One hundred points to MACUSA, and may it never slacken. Ever considered spanking? It does wonders to bring a shy young idealist out of the shell and into the power play. ~~Ask Al~~_  

"Who’s Al?" Newt asked, puzzled. "A clue?" 

"Capone." Percival had both feet on the ground already, throwing brisk info over his shoulder as he reached for a quill. They were stacked on a little desk dating back to pre-Scamander days, before the room had become an Apparating terminus for Newt and an Extended playground for part of his crew. "No-good No-Maj. I can't believe this. That rotter, getting frisky with the local Mafia under my name. On my lunch breaks, no doubt. And then he critiques my night moves." 

Oh. Newt watched as Percival sent an owl, then four, then, having covered groundwork, a complimentary howler to whichever unfortunate headed the No-good No-Maj Office.

_10 : 33 Why, you’re a yowler, Mr Scamander._

_10 : 33 : 14 You know, when I asked on our last parting ‘Will we die a little’, I did have a French phrase in mind. But it wasn’t_ la petite mort _, no. You seem to have taken me quite at my word. Or do you make a habit of passing out post coitum?_

"Do I?" Newt turned to his lover, once more sitting on the bedside. 

"You do. It’s... rather charming. Not that I know about your previous, ah, dalliances –"

"There hasn’t been any. Surely, I told you that?"

"No. No, you never said. That is, I know about the lady in your case – your literal case, as it is." Newt smiled, and Percival joined suit, finding and holding Newt’s gaze as he did. His held relief, Newt saw, and a strange light, half unsure, half certain. "But I didn’t want to… to pry, although… I’m glad to know."

Newt kissed him, then: a  kiss rapt and buoyant, while he pushed himself against that warm crinkly chest and chased the ghost lick of smoke and sweetness with his tongue.

Then grabbed the sheet again. There were only a few lines left.

_11 : 01 I shall now leave you to your rest, good sirs, short as it may be. Your night has a few more rounds in store, I wager; but so has mine, and I must see to them. I came here resolved to kill you both, or at least wreak a revenge on each that would flay the other to the bone. Believe me when I say that those I catch, I do not easily let go. But you have distracted me. And, having taken my mind off ravage, you have made me change it. A rare feat indeed – do not expect to renew it any time soon._

_It may be that we are in summer, and you, Mr Scamander, babbler extraordinaire, first-time enthusiast, lover of all creatures down to the puniest, have brought back to mem _ory__

The parchment dropped into silence. The lovers’ gazes met again in green- and dark-eyed bafflement. 

"Mad," Percival said decisively. "Or drugged. He had a _most_ unhealthy complexion, as I recall – probably got himself a skinful of dope." He frowned at this unGraveslike lapse into slang, turning the page one side and the other for a last inspection.

"There." Newt pointed at the very bottom. "He’s left us a PS."

"Are you sure? I can’t see anything."

Newt screwed up his eyes at the script, which had mischievously shrunk into a tiny line of dots and squiggles. "Oh, wait. It’s for me, actually."

Se taire, c’est mourir un peu (1), _Scamander. I thought I’d made myself clear on the subject. And Graves’s heart is no better guarded than his doors – as my visit should show_. _Live and learn_.

(1) To keep silent is to die a little.

"We need to move out and ward up," Percival was saying, wand on the warpath, _accio_ ing shirt and undershirt from the closet. "New Unplottable spell. Or… I’ve never considered blood magic before, but if it comes to –" 

He stopped, half unsure again, and Newt heard his cue. There was no reason to think that Ilvermorny’s curriculum was any less strict than Hogwarts’ when it came to blood magic – to teaching what it could do and where its true strength lay: not in lineage or purity, but in the matching of hearts which blood course through a thousand times a day, leaving them stronger.

"Yes," he said before he had to hush a _Please_. "Percival, yes. Any oath, any bond, any… if you’ll have me. Blood and all."

He swallowed back a flutter and raised his eyes to the transfixed Percival. "And, and, and if you don’t mind the animals. They’re, um, not blood relatives, that would be my brother, but they’re _strong_ and they’re _good_ , and my oath will last as long as they do. Which, y’now, is quite a guarantee. I mean, given most of their life spans. Not that I don’t expect you not to, uh, live to a great age. Oh, Merlin. Say something?"

A pearl-grey shirt billowed to the ground. "You extraordinary babbler," Percival said, the awe palpable in his voice. He took two steps to the bed. "Come here, dear heart." 

"…Oh." And Newt, as dizzy as if the splash of light was made of gigglewater, hurried to comply. He let Percival lie down over him and cover him like a shield, then put his mouth to the strong chest and sucked, moulding his lips to a nipple. His bedfellow gasped a curse. Newt smiled.

"So." He closed his eyes and listened to Percival’s heartbeat, swollen and excited and so, so alive. "Did you know Billywigs can actually be trained to spin silk stocking?"


End file.
